


"I LOVE YOU, HARRY OSBORN!"

by Leftleg



Category: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Big Gay Love Story, Catholic Characters bc ya boy is a catholic, I Don't Even Know, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, OOOOOOOOOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, Shouting your love from all over the place bc love amiright, Slice of Life, as does toby maguire, dane dehaan has my heart, dudes being dudes, fellas its not gay to kiss your boyfriend, fight me, i just like the 1940s poeticism, im soft for blonde harry, just bros being bros and, just...being in love..., lets pretend everything is okay!, like at all because i want harry to BE HAPPY, not historically accurate at all, pls, so theyre my peter and harry, they fuck kinda, various parts where they say I love you, yeah - Freeform, yeah im in that type of mood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leftleg/pseuds/Leftleg
Summary: And Harry is embarrassed. Of course he is, why wouldn't he be? His best friend in all the living, breathing world just shouted on local radio that he loved him.





	"I LOVE YOU, HARRY OSBORN!"

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 4:20 in the morning im not lying to you i couldnt sleep

 

 Peter’s been his best friend for years. He couldn’t have asked for a better one in all his life. They’ve been close since, what, forever and Harry could never shake that swell of emotion that fills him when Peter smiles at him, because he can’t really place the feeling or what it could mean, and often times he just smiles right back and then he feels very warm inside, but also very disappointed in himself because of something he doesn’t even know is happening.

Usually, it’s just him and Peter,and some project that brings them together and Harry revels in that because its a neutral territory where being close means nothing and he can stare at his friend all day if he wanted to and not feel terrible about it because his heart hurts and it only gets worse when Peter compliments his efforts and their mission to keep Harry’s mother’s dream alive. He feels very hot and very sick and an itch comes to him every time to grab Peter’s face and kiss him, and he knows that’s not good because he’s got this thing for MJ still. So Harry keeps it neutral, even when he’s blushing red and his fingers shake under Peter’s gaze.

He wishes he were back in Europe. This was much easier in Europe.

* * *

 

 

'The day has apparently come.

 Harry decides that since the ceremony hits around his break, he'd go out and see it and make sure that Peter is okay and happy. Comfortable with the eyes of so many on him, as well as being recorded for all to see. There were reporters and civilians, radio-patsies sent to make sure the recordings were actually recorded. Harry, he gets there, taking the long walk from the laboratory, down the many empty streets that lead him there just as his dear friend Peter is talking at the podium. He looks very calm, as he should, but Harry knows better, can tell by the way his left-hand twitches nervously and taps impatiently on the wood. He had prepared a speech, apparently, and it sounded very much so like something a certain reporter had made for him.

He wades through the crowd and makes it to the centre of it, which allows him to see more of the stage's inhabitants. There was May standing very proudly behind her nephew, and beside her, Mary-Jane with her steno, scribbling as he spoke. Harry's father was up there, of course, and then a number of officers and government employees standing in wait. After the initial speech, Peter clears his throat, says his thanks to the public for his award (an award celebrating his own scientific achievements), then pulls a real wide, peculiar grin.

“And finally, as a final confession that I am no longer ashamed to make: _I love you_ , Harry Osborn!” 

He shouts it. He really _belts_ it.

And Harry is embarrassed. Of course he is, why wouldn't he be? His best friend in all the living, breathing world just shouted on a city-wide broadcast that he loved him.

So yes, he's embarrassed. Embarrassed to the point that his cheeks turn red and his heart begins to thud in his chest and adrenaline rushes his veins.

And before he even knows it, and the crowd has gone silent because they're also very embarrassed and confused and don't know what to do because that's a very personal thing and hey, was that really appropriate to shout on a public broadcast? It doesn't matter to Harry, because he's cupping his hands around his mouth and his cheeks are very red and hot and he can't really form a good, coherent thought or words other than-

“I love you too, Peter Parker!”

And  _he_ shouts it as well over the mumbling crowd that came to see a young man get a reward, not to hear love confessions. But they got it anyway, and Harry thinks that's perfectly okay because the look on his dad's face is beyond priceless and the look on May's face is also very much beyond priceless and he can't help but say it again because he isn't sure they really _heard_ him.

“I love you, Peter Parker!” He shouts again after manoeuvring his way through the crowd so he's closer and everyone on stage above the age of forty looks like they're about to faint because they came to give rewards and congratulate, _not_ hear love confessions.

Peter turns beet red because he didn't think Harry would be there to see him get his award in person. He thought he'd have to deal with this moment of confrontation later on the roof of Harry's apartment, but that doesn't matter because he smiled at him and everything seems to be okay for a moment while Harry reaches the stage and looks up at his friend and now he guessed his _‘boyfriend’,_ and he feels very much sick to his stomach but he feels very okay and very happy and very everything else that comes with the package of outing yourself on television in front of your dad and one of the most populated cities of the USA.

Peter smiles at him and offers a hand so Harry can come on stage and get an award too because Peter never does anything halfway, and if he gets an award, so does Harry.

He brings him on stage and they can't stop smiling, the two cookie thieves they are, and Peter says it again that he really loves Harry and Harry can't help but want to say it again that he loves him but he knew he'd be caught in a forever cycle of repeating ‘I love you’ all over, but then again, that's what they'll be doing anyway from today until forever, so Peter gives him a kiss, a big one right smack on the lips in front of God and everybody and Harry's feeling a little less Catholic now as he kisses him back and hugs him very close.

“I told you I'd do it. I never lie when it comes to you.” he hears him whisper in his ear, and Peter is very right because he never lies when it comes to love. And now Harry's feeling like he's been one-upped and decides the best possible thing to do is put this hands on Peter's face and kiss him again, right in front of the devil and no one.

There is confusion and panic on his father's face and May's. Mary is shocked to the point that she can't write anymore, too busy trying to piece together what just occurred. There is yelling and panic for all reports to stop, and all broadcasting to end, and Harry is absolutely lost in Peter's eyes just as he feels a strong hand drop onto his shoulder, and yank him hard, pulling him away and jerking his head sharply.

He blinks.  

* * *

 

 He looks around himself. He is on the rooftop of his apartment, as he normally is when he dreams of Peter Parker, and he notices that he's facing the skyline and that there is a strong arm thrown over his waist, as well as a heaving and warm chest against his back. He turns his head to see him and nearly bursts with alarm at the sight of a snoozing, exhausted Spider-Man behind him. He sighs instead, and reflects on the dangers of his affliction.

 "Peter Parker. You're one dangerous man to know."

"Yeah. I know." 

And that spooks him. Shocks him to the core, making jolt with a bout of panic that he nearly clocks him in the chin with his shoulder. The man who appeared to be sleeping laughed low and mocking, moving into a more comfortable position on the quilt they slept on. He had almost forgotten.  Sometimes, they picnic on Harry’s rooftop, laying on a large quilt and staring at the very plain night sky. They had eaten dinner up there (dinner being a very _loose_ term for sandwiches and juice bottles), and then had apparently fallen asleep. Or, Harry did, at least.

"You're awake!" He exclaims, startled by the sound of Peter's voice.

"When you're Spider-Man, there's no such thing as 'heavy sleeping'." He sighed, laying on his back, "What's this about me being dangerous?"

"Nothing. Just a dream."

"A dream? About me? You shouldn't have."

"You're right, I shouldn't have." Harry sat up and looked west, the moon, a slither of white light cutting the dark sky stared down at him like a smile. And silly as he was as he was still what his father called a  _"boy"_ , Harry smiled back up at the cosmos, as Peter rightened himself behind him. "I shouldn't be dreaming of you. But I can't help it!" He laughed shyly.

"Me neither. Though I doubt my dreams are like your dreams."

"You're right. I dream about you and I...being something very...very strange."

"Oh?" He sounded curious, and crossed those arms that were once around Harry's waist over his chest, and studied his friend very carefully.

"I- I think I may have accidentally fallen in...in infatuation with you." He gave a chuckle, "Suddenly, for a while since that time you caught me from falling, I've been plagued by all these fantastical and strange visions of you and me. I don't know what to do, but I know what I want to do."

"And that is?"

"Become a slave to my passions." He smiled meekly, then rebounded, back on the topic of the dreamt award ceremony, remembering that it was an actual event set to occur. “You _are_ getting an award next week, despite however I dreamt it." He said with a smile, watching another plane pass by. "That's exciting. What are you gonna say?"

"Not sure."

"Not good Peter."

"You dreamt it, by your own words, you've admitted it. What did I say?"

Harry wanted to kick himself. He hadn't meant to say anything about his dream, but Peter was very perceptive nevertheless. Even if he didn't say anything, Peter would've found out. 

" _'I love you, Harry Osborn?.'_?" He responds almost dreamily, looking at Harry without him knowing it. He thought it over, as if it were a new candy that he rolled on his tongue to catch a flavour, then nodded with acceptance. "I'll shout it out right on stage. How about that? Just like your dream."

"You won't. May would murder you!"

"May? Well...yeah, _maybe_ , but I don't have anything else to say." He shrugs. "I might just do it. Just for your sanity."

He shakes his head. "That's not very nice. To mock me that way, Peter. I thought you were a gentleman."  He wants to laugh, but the thought of Peter doing it put butterflies in his stomach. What if he actually does that? Just like his dream?  What would he have to do in response? His father will be the one giving the award, no way he could just  _shout it back_! He blushes very deeply thinking about it, feeling embarrassed. He'd have to kill Peter if he actually did it. 

"Anyway, Harry, what about you?"

"What do you mean? I'm not getting anything-"

“I mean...what do you want to do in the future? Where do you want to be? _Who_ do you want to be?”

"I- I want to make the world better. I want to get married and have a family and not be with a man who shouts that he loves me on local radio."

"Gee, Harry." He started, "Gee damn, Harry."

 And some time goes by and Peter begins to turn sweeter somehow and in turn, Harry becomes more partial to him. They begin to do this thing where Peter begins to bunk at his home, and they do things that adults do like eat and sleep. It took a while, but soon enough Peter becomes his official roommate, but they're not _together_ or anything, because Peter still has that Mary Jane situation to work on and Harry had to keep his distance from anything brash like that. So, Harry welcomes him every time he comes home, and he rubs his aching back when he drops onto the couch face first after a hard day of Spider-Manning and scienceing, and he rubs his head when he's tired, and he even lays with him sometimes because he loves Peter that much. 

 

* * *

 

 So then one night,  they go on a date.

It’s some real swanky place up in Tribeca that served near authentic Italian food at an _‘Oh you wanted authentic Italian in America?!’_ price. The place was reservation only and demanded that you wear authentic leather shoes or so help you  _God_ , the place would burn down. Somehow, Harry was able to book them on a very good night where the place was moderately full but not full enough that it was suffocating or panic-inducing. The place was nice too, the inside decked with bright gold and dark wood that accented each other perfectly, as well as the flowing light drapery that hung around and kept the bright yellow tone inside the building like a greenhouse of candlelight and fifty dollar light bulbs. The waitress was very nice as well, complimenting them and swiftly escorting them to their table near the front window (because Peter had to know about any immediate crime). She poured them both a glass of white wine and left them to think over their order.

So everything is good, right?

Wrong.

Because Harry was in the worst mood of his life. He was pissed over an incident that happened earlier that day at work- someone had dropped a test tube during the bustle of the lab. Apparently, by Harry’s own words, the tube was empty and it was a simple accident, but when asked why he was so mad over it, the answer was a cause of mild concern on Peter’s part.

“The fucking- the _glass_ , Peter. The glass, all over the floor.” He knocked back a good half of his wine, starting again: “All over the place, and now everything starts to go slow because that damn intern- _moron_ had to be a clumsy idiot! God- imagine if something important were in there! Acid or something dangerous, you know? Then we would’ve been fucked with trying to clean it and since everyone in that damn office panics like a roach under a lamp. And someone could've gotten hurt-”

“Harry, calm down. It was an accident. It’s been cleaned, it’s been rectified. Just let it go. Relax a little.”

“R- _relax?_ I-,” He stopped, took a breath, and exhaled calmly. “You’re right. I’m blowing this out of proportion, aren’t I?”

He chuckled when Peter nodded at him. He was embarrassed at his outburst and remembered where he was. He flagged the waitress down and gave their order, also receiving a refill of his glass.

He turned his attention back to Peter.

“So.Us." He drank.

"Yeah. Us." Peter drank too. "What are we now?"

"We're together."

"Boyfriends?"

The way Peter asks makes Harry blush and want to giggle. It sounds so childish and strange to hear, but it was what they were. They were... _together,_ now. But it was not exactly the best of places to say such things, so Harry whispered in response: _"Boyfriends._ "

And the rest of the night goes fairly well. They eat and drink and are merry until the cows come home, until it came time for Harry to excuse himself to the restroom. The problem here is that he is very much tipsy because, like all sons of rich bastards, he drinks until he cries for his mother, and then drinks more until he stops crying and becomes angry. This is a problem because angry Harry is as explosive as a keg of gunpowder next to a tea candle and has the minute mouth of the first sailor to ever swear. On his way to the restrooms on partially steady feet, he makes it a good few feet before accidentally stumbling onto a man in a done up suit and a mean face.

He tells him to back off. Harry doesn't like being spoken to like that.

 Now they're outside this swanky Tribecan restaurant that they may or may not have just gotten kicked out of because another patron said something really sideways to Harry (and Peter, of course,  _had_  to deescalate, which was mistaken as him also coming to fight). Now they're pacing anxiously in wait for the cops. Peter rarely had the chance to see Harry lose his cool like that, and to see him blow as he did was, well, it was pretty scary.  

He had first given the guy a drunk, thesis-long _'fuck you and your mother'_ speech, then finished it with a nice topping of some poor guy's shrimp cocktail being thrown in the harasser's face (granted, the man threw red wine on Peter's new cream suit, so he'd let that slide.). It was interesting to see, and when a very underpaid and very tired waitress came out to let them know the harasser didn't want the police called and that they were free to walk off, Peter took that as his chance to let Harry know it.

“Goddamnit Harry! What the hell was that?”

"He came after me, Pete! _Me!"_ Which wasn't true no matter how he spun it. "That man yelled at  _me_ first! What was I supposed to do? Take it?"

" _Yes, Harry!"_ He shouted tiredly. Verbal altercations like this wore him down, which was why physical fghts were more his forte. "Harry, you  _take it_! Because _you_ were in the wrong! You started it, he responded! That happens! That's how normal people _op-er-rate!"_

"What are- what are you trying to say, Pete?" He wasn't yelling, in fact, he looked more hurt than anything. The softer tone of his voice and the shifted, apologetic expression on his face made Peter wince at his actions. He didn't mean to hurt his feelings or anything like that. He was just...scolding him. 

"Are you saying- that I'm not  _'normal'_?"

"No, Harry. I'm saying-"

"No. No, that's exactly what you said. You think I'm some sort of- crazy, anger-issued reak, huh? Just like my dad-"

"No, it's nothing like that! Just-" He groaned in frustration, and refusing to argue in circles with the drunk man, he settled for shutting him up instead. Grabbing his face, he pulled him close and kissed him very hard in something more of a sneak attack than a meeting of lips, cutting him off from whatever else he was going to say. Harry didn't mind too much because it's Peter fucking Parker and honestly? Take that Cocktail guy!

He pulled away and looked him in the eyes, and breathlessly, still holding his face in his hands (just in case), he said very seriously and very sorrowfully:

“Harry, I love you. I love you a lot." He tapped their temples together lightly. "And...seeing you angry like that- we need to work on that.”

And Harry, looking just as sorry as he did before, seemed to stare very blankly at him, like a dog being spoken too in a serious tone with words it couldn't understand. Then, something passed over his features, and a realization dawned on him. He nodded profusely, and looked very ashamed of himself and then very self-conscious. 

“I...I understand. I-I'm sorry. I love you too. I'm sorry for how I acted.”

Satisfied, Peter smiled at him, and Harry went red again because there was something about the way Peter smiled, that soft curve of his lips and the gentle warmth that came from his face always caught him off guard with its genuineness. Very rarely did people look at him like that, and that idea made him fall in love more and more. He kissed him again, this time calmer but earnest, with first a testing drag of his lips, then full press and pucker. He started a rhythm, a motion of swells and falls.

Then came the rain. A fat droplet hit him smack on the forehead and Peter moved back as the torrent came down on them.

He thanked God that it was summer and then was caught with a burst of happiness unlike any other that overwhelmed him. He took hold of Harry's hand ran the sidewalks with him, dodging an slipping between the emptying sidewalks until they reached their apartment building, drenched and cold under the apartment lobby AC, breathless and filled with terrible reckless abandon and fear. Peter's hand slipped easily into a firm grip with Harry's and he smiled very nervously at the receptionist who eyed them with concern because they just ran into the building from the night, drenched in rain and who wouldn't be concerned about that?

He nodded to her.

Harry needed to have something done about this anger problem.

* * *

  
But even then, some years later of doing this ' _boyfriend'_ thing, Peter asks him to marry him.

It's very sudden and very scary because all Harry knew about it was that he was at work, and was told that there was a certain Spider-Man on the line that wanted to speak to him. He figured it was something about their relationship, Peter had made hints before of wanting to move it to another level, but he didn't he'd be so dramatic about it. And he goes to the phone, and he isn't very scared because lovers call you at work all the time, right? So why would he be scared?

He's on the phone, listening very closely because suddenly something feels wrong and he doesn't like the sting in his gut when Peter speaks to him in a hurried whisper about being at some enemy base somewhere where there's wind and shouting and gunshots because Harry can hear it all in the background and he doesn't like it at all. He swallows.

“Harry... I-if I get out of this alive, the first thing I'm doing is marrying you.” he tries to make it a joke, but he can tell he's very scared too. Peter tries to laugh and Harry opens his mouth not nothing comes because he doesn't have anything in his head to say, yet when something comes, he can't get the words out quick enough, but he feels like that was Peter's quick and shithead way of saying _“I love you”_.

When the line goes dead, he has the urge to call him back and call him a prick.

But he makes it out and he kept true to his word because remember, Peter never lies when it comes to love. He spent a lot of time getting ready for the day, apparently. A lot of time and money- money he worked more than hard to get and Harry feels bad when Peter won't let him ask about prices of venues because it's not important to ensure a happy future together, and Peter knows it because he's a Parker, and the Parkers have never been rich.

Over dinner one night before the week of their wedding, Peter served Harry a plate of extra creamy alfredo (you know, the way he likes it), and then plopped himself on the quilt next to him. While Harry ate (Peter was certainly getting better at this cooking thing), Peter took a very serious air and watched him.

“We have to tell your dad.” He said, which was true because Harry was going to inherit a lot of land and money and if he were to get married, some rearrangements had to be made. Harry hummed.

“We don't.” He countered, sipping his water. He'd rather leave his father out of this as much as possible, but Peter insisted. He was very close to his family and wanted them as involved as possible. Harry should've guessed he'd carry such an attitude with him as well. 

"We do. We  _must._ "

“Well then. When?”

“Soon.” Peter frowned. He didn't like ‘soon’ because _'soon_ ’ turned to _‘later’_ which turned to _‘next week, I promise.’_ and then so on. Harry smiled.

“Tomorrow. Let's go tomorrow.” 

“What do you want me to say?” Peter was nervous under the guise of toughness with the idea of facing Norman. Harry shrugged.

“I'm sure you can think of something.”

Which was very true, because when tomorrow came and they walked into Norman’s office, Peter's gift of gab came into play.

* * *

 

Norman was at his desk, speaking into his desk phone with enough rage it could put an Aries to shame, and he waved them in with the hand that wasn't death gripping the phone. Peter felt very nervous but not as much as Harry because despite being his son, Norman made it clear on numerous occasions that he would rather have a rat for a son than Harry. Most likely because they talk less and run when Norman yells, but I digress.

He hung up the phone with a pointed farewell and a hard slam that they weren't supposed to notice was a slam. The man, now much older than the last time he had seen him, smiled at the couple, but mostly at Peter.

“Well if it isn't my favourite boy and my son!” He said in a striking change of attitude, “Peter, how are you doing?”

“I'm fine, Mister Osborn. Just, uh, peachy, I guess.” Norman nods at Harry and Harry just- _smiles_ , just like his dad did to Peter, he smiles right back. Lots of smiling, not a lot of talking. Not good.

So Peter motions to a chair and Norman says: “Oh, be my guest.” But there's only one chair at Norman's desk facing the mayor, so Harry is left to stand behind Peter, fighting the urge to sit right in his lap. You know, to set a mood.

Anyway, Peter starts talking, talking really nice and well to Norman, and by God, the man is _eating_ _it up_. Harry could swear that Norman loved Peter more than he did. He smiles again when Peter mentions him.

“So, M-Mister Osborn-” he starts and that's where the _hands_ come out showing how serious Parker is about all this, and Norman waves a hand.

“Oh, Peter, you're like a son to me! Please, call me Norman.” and then, as a little businessman joke, he says: “But if you wanna get a little test, call me 'Dad’.”

“Thank you, Mis- _Norman_. I think we'll save the ‘Dad’ part for a while.” Norman nods.

“So, Peter, what brings you and Harry to my office?”

“Well, we wanted to... _confess_ to some things. Well not _'confess’,_ per se, but we have something very important that you need to know.”

“Well,” he gave a real dad chuckle at that and waved his hand, “go on and tell me! Don't be so scared! You haven't done anything wrong, have you boys? You know I have some connections I can work out…”

“Oh! No, no, Sir! Nothing like that!”

“Then out with it, Parker! Daddy Norman is all ears.” He lounges back in his chair, “Harry, could you pour me a drink while I talk to Peter, please? The bar's over there.”

And Harry grimaces but does it anyway, pouring his dad a glass of bourbon with two blocks of ice (just as he always has it) and brings it over to the desk. He fights another urge to throw it in his smarmy face, but he'd rather not piss him off while Peter is explaining something that would quite frankly make it break their future. So Harry, again, smiles very wide and tells him to enjoy his drink before returning to Peter's side. Norman is intrigued by this change of heart in his actual son, and quirks a brown as he drinks.

“All that and no snark? My God, Peter, what have you done to this shrew, and give me the steps so I can use it on my employees.” He laughs at his own joke and Peter doesn't know if he should laugh or not but thinks it'll be best to laugh at Norman, so he goes and chuckles before saying something that actually gets the conversation going in the right direction.

“Well, I just...um, loved him a little bit. That's all.”

“Loved him? Are you implying that I don't love my son?”

“No, Sir! I just mean that I-gave him a bit of, uh, _different_ love. You know. Some hugs...that type of stuff.”

Harry squeezes his shoulder. _‘_ Norman looks between them both.

“Peter, why are you two here today?”

“I- _we_ wanted to tell you that we're, uh, we're getting married.”

There it is. He said it. And Norman sputters like a fucking motor when he hears it. He looks at them again, turns a bright pink, then downs the entire glass like it's nothing, leaving only the two ice cubes at the bottom.

“You're _what_?”

“We're getting married, Mister Osborn. And we wanted you to know.” And then Peter steels himself, sitting taller and firmer, “And if you support us, great, if not then-”

Norman raises his hand to stop Peter.

“Woah, Woah! Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Peter. I- this is very sudden. It's also not a very funny joke you're pulling here. Not at all, Peter."

"It's...it's not a joke, Mister Osborn. I really intend on marrying your son."

"Heh. Of course. And I suppose you're here for my permission to take his hand? Absolutely!"

They're dumbfounded.

"Excuse me?"

"I said yes!. Harry needs someone,and I know for certain no woman wants him or they would've had him by now." He plays with the ice in the glass. "And you really think I wouldn't support my favourite boy? I'm just...shocked, is all.”

Then he stands, and goes to the bar and pours himself some more to drink, downing it. Then another and another. After six kickbacks of bourbon, he comes back to his desk.

“Okay. You're getting... _married_.” he breathes, “congratulations, you two.” He taps the tips of his fingers together, thinking. “I never knew you were that way, Harry. If I had known- oh God, was it the boarding school? Did something happen there to make you a,” he whispers, “ _a homosexual_?”

And Harry wants to scoff and scream and yell, but all he can do is laugh and shake the idea of kicking his dad's shit in from his head. Exasperated he tells him, _no_ , and that boarding school does not turn good Christian boys gay. Well, normally they don't, anyway.

“So when? Where? Who's officiating? You know you can't take this to our church, Harry. Or any church for that matter. It won't even be recognized as a union. You're better off living together as bachelors. No more of this marriage talk.”

Peter sucks his teeth. He had a point. They could hoot and holler and have as many celebrations as they wanted saying that they were married, but it would never be seen as an actual union. It'd just put them at great risk. He suddenly felt very dumb and shy. Norman hummed in thought, then smiles. It's not a businessman smile, but a dad smile. He's thinking, and he's thinking very hard and whatever he's thinking must be very nice. Harry suddenly excuses himself because perhaps he also feels very embarrassed and would rather not be seen. He doesn't say why.

Suddenly, Norman says very happily:

"You're really planning on staying by him?"

"Of course I am. "

"How long has this...been in the works, Pete? I know kids these days like to rush into these things, so please, enlighten me."

So he explains, Peter does, their entire relationship. Every date, every movement they made pushing forward- him moving in, him working officially for F.E.A.S.T, and everything in between. He tells it with excitement, a particular glow in his eyes that get brighter with each story of how Peter got to this very moment in front of the goddamn mayor. He says everything so smoothly, so airy that it feels like a spring breeze cutting through a wintery day. It blew Norman away, how deeply Peter actually felt, and very suddenly, he felt very silly and blushed, feeling as if he heard some very private secret that he knew he couldn't keep. 

When Peter finished, Norman was left speechless.

“I'll see what I can do for you two.” He mumbles very low and very bewildered. Peter doesn't hear him.

“Mister Osborn?”

"I said- I said I'll see what I can do for you. You clearly are very serious about this, Peter. But I know Harry," He aims a finger towards the office door, "I know him, and he gets serious about two things: One, his mother and her visions, and two, his own ambitions. If he doesn't feel like he'll get far with it, he'll quit just as soon as he starts, or he loses his damn mind about it." He shook his head. "I'll get you kids a venue. Some rings- you got rings?"

Peter nodded. That was what all his time and money went to.

"Alright. I'll get you a venue and someone to read your rigths or what have you. A ceremony for you two, but that's all you'll have. No documents, no spousal anything, you understand?"

He stood from his seat, and to Peter, Norman suddenly looked very, very old and tired, which put a grim taste in his mouth. 

"Parker, I know you're dedicated, but I want you to be smart. Don't let someone waste your time because your own ambition is blinding you. And this isn't just about Harry, but also that news girl. Don't let your ambition be seen as a train for anyone to jump on, you hear me?"

Peter eyed him, and he got very serious.

“Don't worry, Mister Osborn. I won't and I don't. Harry is with me because of our hearts, not some seedy way to get ahead. Our love is- it's something eternal. I want you to have a little more faith in him."

Norman, somehow pleased, gruffs and holds a hand for Peter to shake.

"If you really believe in him so much, then shake my hand."

And he did, signing himself away to the Osborn family. And Norman likes that answer, and says again: “I'll see what I can do for _you_.”

 

* * *

 

And they get 'married'. "Married" somewhere grand and beautiful where the sunlight poured in over them just as they sealed the deal with a kiss and they were drenched in red and blue light from stained glass and sunlight. And they run out the venue, a small building out looking a hill of an orchard, hand in hand where they're followed by the guests onto the green grass and dirt paths where more things are thrown their way- leaves, flower petals, wind and ribbons of the sweet scent of fruit washes over them, and just before they get in the car that's waiting for them (chauffeur included), he gives Peter a kiss for the ages, and it almost makes him feel a little less bad about Norman closing the orchard so they could have this. Almost.

And they give a wave to the guests, a very tiny group of the closest people they have, and from that day on, everything feels good and sweet and there's this brightness to everything that makes Harry feel like he's going blind every time he opens his eyes. He's sensitive, his senses beyond what they were and life feels much more... _new_ and vibrant. Birds sing to him now instead of the world, and the wind moves for him and Peter. Harry has fallen deeper into the petal cushioned abyss of eternal love. It feels unreal. A dream too good to be true, yet, it is, and it hurts him somewhere deep. It didn't feel right, something in him, but he decided not to dwell on it. Not to think on it, because today was a day where all doubts were to take a back seat and stay gone and out of his head.

Peter threw an arm over Harry's shoulder, joyfully, he spoke:

“Parker-Osborn? Osborn-Parker?”

“You want to hyphenate it?” Harry responded caught off-guard and nervous. Peter smirked.

“You don't?”

“You proposed.”

“I suppose.”

And he smiles at him, and Harry becomes very weak in the chest and starts to cough, which frightens Peter because that's a very bad cough. That's not good. And he holds him while he coughs his lungs out, and when it stops Harry's heart hurts and his lungs and throat burn something bad. He feels bad. Feels wrong somewhere. He feels uncertain and anxious, but he supposes that's just how things are when you conjoin your entire life with someone else. He's bashful and looks off and apologizes. He is rewarded with a kiss to his temple and a playful pinch to his earlobe.

“So our last name,” Peter says, easing next to Harry in the seat, “Harry Parker or Peter Osborn?”

* * *

 Even more time passes, and they've moved somewhere bigger, somewhere where the sunlight never fails to drench their entire living room with orange light, and the moon never fails to set their bedroom aglow with a pale lantern light. 

Harry likes to relish in it, these polar luminations that come and go on a fixed clock. They wake him, they put him to bed, and they set him full of worry and joy because like those intellectuals before the newest generation, there were people who used those lights to tell the time, and as such does he. When the sun rises, Peter rises with it. First light, first movement. He is that scurrying and stirring mouse, but, he does not come home and rest when that sun disappears. No, he returns long after the moon has sung her song and kissed the sleeping world good-night, but still in that space before the sun climbs his boastful self over the eastern horizon. 

Sometimes, he doesn't come home at all. Other times, he comes for mere seconds, rests, then leaves again in all the span of an hour. Harry went to work too and would worry while there if Peter ever came home at all since the morning, and worries, even more, when he clocks out later than he should and comes home to a dark and silent home. But when Peter  _is_ home, they act as if he has never left at all. Talk like he is always around, always home to wake, eat, bathe and sleep. They get many things done, too, things that in a normal home of two busy people who tired easily, would never get done.

The most notable of this was the spare room across from their's that sat very empty and ugly. Barren and boringly drab. Harry was first to speak on it, the octagonal room with it's high, eastward, city-pointed windows and plain wooden walls floor. They had no use for the room, but still, there was a hidden ambition there that could be tapped in to, and Peter was the one who found it.

"We could...paint the walls." He suggested, a tender touch to the smooth wall as he dreamily looked over them. They could paint it.

"But what? Paint it what?"

"A city? A forest. An ocean.." He listed, walking the circumference of the room in that hypnotic enrapture, until he came back to Harry's space, and hugged him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Anything or nothing at all." 

"I-I think we have some time to figure it out?"

"Yeah. Of course, don't worry, there's no rush. The author will just write a time skip without explaining anything."

"What?"

He kissed Harry's cheek, "Inside joke. Don't worry."

And they lived happily ever after.

Perhaps.

 


End file.
